


Recipe for Disaster

by Somethingsomethingsomething



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Business, Businessman Louis, Chef Harry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Favours, Food Sex, Gay, M/M, Opposites Attract, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somethingsomethingsomething/pseuds/Somethingsomethingsomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U Louis is a ruthless businessman working for an investment company. Harry is a talented but modest chef at his very own bistro that is undergoing assessment due to lack of custom. Harry is made unemployed at the hands of Louis, but Louis soon realises he's got an appetite for more than just matters of business. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>"Ahh, profit. My second favourite P word," laughs Louis Tomlinson, straightening his navy suit jacket as he stands, filing papers into his leather briefcase.<br/>"Let me guess, the first is... Penis?" Liam jibes, nudging Louis' elbow with his own, bobbing his eyebrows up and down suggestively. The barely-there wrinkles around Liam's eyes all crinkle up when he smiles, giving him the look of a shy school boy with a secret.<br/>"Don't be so crude Payno, obviously I was going to say Peroni. Let's grab some beers to celebrate another win with my partner in crime."<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Recipe for Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Complete work of fiction. Not for-profit. Absolutely does not reflect lives of those featured.

Profit /ˈprɒfɪt/ noun  
1\. a financial gain, especially the difference between the amount earned and the amount spent in buying, operating or producing something  
2\. advantage; benefit

Attitude Fortune UK Headquarters

"Ahh, profit. My second favourite P word," laughs Louis Tomlinson, straightening his navy suit jacket as he stands, filing papers into his leather briefcase.  
"Let me guess, the first is... Penis?" Liam jibes, nudging Louis' elbow with his own, bobbing his eyebrows up and down suggestively. The barely-there wrinkles around Liam's eyes all crinkle up when he smiles, giving him the look of a shy school boy with a secret.  
"Don't be so crude Payno, obviously I was going to say Peroni. Let's grab some beers to celebrate another win with my partner in crime." Louis plants the palm of his hand firmly on Liam's shoulder and squeezes, a proud smile forming on his face. The pair of them were the dream team; buddies since there were teenagers, now highly successful colleagues in their twenties. Louis and Liam were investors at a company called Attitude Fortune UK, specializing in capital investment in upcoming businesses within the South West London area. They had just closed a deal with a big sportswear retailer, and their boss had told them prior if they managed to secure the investment in the real estate then they could leave work early. Combine this with the fact that it was a Friday afternoon, and you have two lads practically bouncing off the walls, ready to shake off the stress of their daily lives by starting their weekend early.  
"Haha, of course! Where are you thinking?"  
"Hmm, there's a new bar on Sloane Avenue that I've been meaning to check out. Got a lot of positive reviews so far. Sound good?" Louis removes his hand from its grip on Liam's shoulder and offers a clenched fist, which Liam bumps with his own in agreement.  
"Sure thing!"  
"Not so fast boys," their boss, Paul Fortune, warns as he steps into their office, a look of apprehension on his face. "I know I promised early leave, but-"  
"Oh, there's always a but isn't there." Louis responds, smirking. He glances at Liam and gives an exaggerated eye roll.  
"Yes, business never stops. Anyway, I overheard you boys talking about needing a drink and this venture works out in your favour actually."  
"How so?"  
"New restaurant. Somewhere in Fulham, I'll email you the full address. Bit of a hipster one," sighs Paul, shaking his head in disapproval.  
"Not a fan of the hipsters then, grandad?" laughs Louis. Paul was a little reluctant to hire Louis Tomlinson when he first started, his gregarious personality and playful banter always having the potential to border on unprofessionalism, in spite of his undeniable likeability. However, it also contributed to the success of the twosome; Liam's pragmatic and serious approach to business balanced out Louis' much more laid-back style, with the added bonus of their clients always having so much trust in them due to Louis' sociable and friendly nature.  
"Excuse me if I don't want to awkwardly sit my arse on some measly cushions on the floor to eat a meal whilst choking on the pungent cloud of incense filling the room. I also don't want my food prepared by some bloke with a beard to rival Santa Claus."  
"So old and yet still believing in Santa, Paul?" Louis places his tongue between his teeth in a cocky smile.  
"Anyway, what's the deal with this new restaurant then?" Liam interrupts, focusing on the work at hand.  
"Thank you, Liam. Yes, so basically it's a write off,"  
"A write off? Why do you need us to go then?"  
"Need a solid reason from a legitimate source to cut them off officially. Apparently the food isn't half bad, just the service and it's not really pulling in the punters," Paul explains with a shrug. "Dog eat dog world, unfortunately."  
"You're telling us. We're like pit bulls," says Louis, his voice a touch softer, as if this is a somewhat regrettable fact.  
"Indeed. It's brutal, but there we go. I just need you guys to go there, experience it, report back the problems and then I can do the dirty work."  
"The 'dirty work'. You sound like a hitman," Louis chuckles. Paul raises his hand to his neck and swiftly moves it from one side to the other in a mock beheading.  
"You betcha. Anyway, the sooner you guys get outta here and over there, rip the place to shreds, the sooner you can start getting boozy."  
"Not gonna argue with that!" Liam declares, clapping his hands together and looking expectantly at Louis. The pair of them nod in unison and start putting on their coats to leave. Paul gives them a thumbs up before exiting their office.  
This was daily life for Louis Tomlinson. Going to places that all kinds of people had spent years building up, dedicating their lives to their passions, and Louis had the job of judging whether it was all even worth it. His job had taken him to some of the most interesting and exciting new places in London, he'd met some truly great and hardworking people, and being the one to validate all of that hard work and reward them with security and a financial hand was fantastic. However sometimes things didn't work out, and for those times, Louis couldn't help but feel like he could probably do a lot more to help those people. 

***

Styles, Bistro 

"Niall! You are useless!" shouts Harry, a little disgruntled. The problem with Harry Styles, especially being in a position of authority, is that he just has too damn nice a face. Gentle emerald eyes that could never appear threatening, permanently flushed cheeks in an attractive rosy pink; the result of constant frustration and hot steam from cooking for hours at a time. Harry inhales deeply, momentarily closing his eyes and trying to remain calm, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. "I'm sorry, you know I don't mean that." He exhales.  
"S'all good mate, I got this!" Niall replies optimistically. This is the third time this week Niall has managed to accidentally drop freshly-prepared plates full of food on the floor. If Harry was being entirely honest with himself, hiring his unbelievably clumsy best friend to be a waiter at his new restaurant was a phenomenally bad decision; customers are very reluctant to forgive waiting an hour for their dinner, and no amount of irrefutable charm and Irish accent can change that reality.  
"Just be careful. You know we can't afford to keep losing customers," Harry says rather quietly, as though already admitting defeat to the battle in his mind of whether or not he is cut out for this. Thankfully he had already prepared another dish of Salmon en croute with accompanying watercress garnish, and he slides the new plate over to Niall. Niall picks it up with extra caution and gives Harry a reassuring grin, which Harry can't help but break his adopted seriousness to reciprocate.  
Harry and Niall had been friends for as long as Harry could remember. The first time they met was at camp in secondary school; Niall was loud, popular and almost permanently surrounded by adoring fans at camp, due to the fact that he would get his guitar out and play everybody's favourite songs upon request. In the evenings, when the school kids were all done with their day activities, they would all gather around the campfire with marshmallows on sticks ready to be toasted, and Niall would sing and play the guitar, lapping up the attention and just making everybody happy.  
Harry, on the other hand, was a bit timid and shy. He would watch Niall sing and would laugh at his jokes, but he never really spoke to him, until one day when Niall started singing 'Hotel California' by Eagles, and nobody knew any of the lyrics apart from Niall and Harry. Harry sort of mumbled along quietly before the chorus kicked in and he couldn't resist any longer - belting out the lyrics with his voice like syrup, all rich in tone and slightly rough, giving the song the rock 'n' roll edge it required. Niall was shocked by Harry's talent, demanding him to sing along to every song with him on account of how much he liked his voice. The pair of them practically became celebrities at school after that, performing at school dances and even forming a band at one time with a couple of their other friends. Niall taught Harry how to play the guitar and Harry even wrote some original songs, but as they grew older they played less and less frequently, but their friendship remains as strong as ever. 

Niall bumps the kitchen door open with his hip, almost entering the actual restaurant, before pausing and turning to Harry once more.  
"Err, what table is this for again?" he asks, biting his lip.  
"Number nine!" Harry shouts back without looking at him, instead concentrating on the Arrabiata penne he has to prepare next. Since the pasta is cooked in bulk and therefore largely readily prepared, this one becomes all about the presentation. After getting the portion size just right and pouring the pasta onto the plate, he wipes the plate clean of any excess sauce so as to avoid the aesthetic of the dish appearing messy. He then uses his long slender fingers to delicately decorate the dish with roughly chopped parsley and diced pancetta. He moves the dish to the waiting area and starts to scan the next order, but becomes distracted by the arrival of two suited men coming into the kitchen.  
"Hello?" Harry greets the pair. They look intimidating and important, despite Harry's guess that they were approximately the same age as himself.  
"Hi there," the one with the slightly scruffier appearance extends his hand toward Harry. "Tomlinson, Louis. And this is Liam Payne. We're from a company called Attitude Fortune, have you heard of us before?"  
"Nice to meet you, I'm Harry Styles. I haven't heard of you, no, sorry," Harry replies, turning his gaze toward the floor and scratching the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. Should he have heard of them? He looked them both up and down, assessing the situation. Both wearing nice suits and expensive-looking watches (the mark of businessmen). Both with neat and partially slicked-back hair, although both also sporting some facial hair, making their appearance a little less primed and polished. Both equally self-assured, but there was something about the one who spoke first, Louis, with his air of confidence, his slightly more dishevelled hair of the two, something a touch more rogue.  
"Not to worry. We're investors. We've been hearing about your place and we just wanted to check it out ourselves, thought we should meet the Head Chef himself," Liam says in a friendly manner, gesturing toward Harry with a bright smile. Harry begins to relax a little bit more.  
"Oh, right. Okay. Well erm, Niall, my head waiter, can guide you to your table and-" Harry is silenced by catching sight of Louis eyeing the remnants of a Salmon en croute amid shards of white china splayed across the kitchen floor.  
"What happened here then?" Louis laughs, gesturing with his right foot toward the mess on the floor. "Bit of a health and safety hazard, is it not?"  
"Umm, yes, I was just about to clear that up actually!" Harry could feel his face getting hotter and subsequently even more red in colour; not least because he kept managing to make direct eye contact with Louis, whose stare was so full of intent and purpose, no doubt judging everything about him. 

"Hazza! You've met these guys then?" Oh thank God, Niall has entered the kitchen. Niall is so endearingly oblivious to serious situations, so casual and cool under any kind of pressure (again, Irish disposition) that he is undoubtedly the ideal guy to have around right now.  
"Yeah we were just getting acquainted," Harry responds, returning to a more human colour and less like one of the cherry tomatoes in his salads. "Want to show them to their table?"  
"Of course! Table number thirteen is ready for you guys!"  
"Ooh, number thirteen. Hope it's not unlucky," Louis jokes, throwing a wink in Harry's direction. Who is this guy? He was so sure of himself, so suave it bordered on arrogance. And why was that so strangely attractive to Harry?  
"Niall will explain to you our specials. I hope you enjoy your experience here," Harry replies through gritted teeth, wound up by his own attraction to such a smug and overconfident corporate robot. Perhaps he was being harsh, but he never really went for that whole persona. He liked modesty and authenticity, real and genuine people. Maybe this Louis was a decent guy underneath that façade, but it still got Harry hot under the collar in irritation, and maybe hot in another way too. 

***

"Cheers for your recommendation, Niall. We'll just have a scan of the menu and we'll probably be ready to order in five," Liam says with a smile, playing the role so well. He and Louis both know exactly what they've come here for, and these type of assignments were infinitely more difficult to handle than their regular business.  
"No worries, I'll be over in a bit with your drinks!" Niall replies enthusiastically, heading over to the bar area with a bit of a skip in his step.  
"Gotta say, I hate it when Paul makes us do this," Louis admits with a sigh, lowering the menu from his gaze and drumming on the table with the fingers of his left hand.  
"I know, it's the worst. The chef, Harry, he seemed really nervous." Liam gestures toward the kitchen with a bob of his head, before taking a bite out of a bread roll from the basket on their table.  
"Yeah... Can't say I didn't enjoy seeing him a bit flustered though."  
"Louis! Get your mind out the gutter," Liam kicks Louis' shin under the table. "We're about the make him unemployed."  
"Well, I've got a job for him, if you know what I me- Ouch! Stop kicking me!"  
"Would you behave! Look, Niall is coming over with our drinks. What are you ordering?" Liam huffs, his patience wearing thinner. Louis just can't resist making remarks whenever he finds a guy attractive. It's a rare occasion, Louis being quite picky himself, but it just makes him all the more vocal whenever someone does catch his eye.  
"Here you go lads!" Niall announces, placing their drinks on the table. He pulls his notepad out from his trouser back pocket, and reaches for the pencil tucked behind his ear. "I'm all yours, what dya want?"  
"I think I'll go for the chicken with sautéed asparagus and garlic," Liam hands his menu over to Niall.  
"Can't go wrong with a classic margherita pizza, can you?" Louis offers, handing over his menu.  
"Great choices guys, be with you shortly!" 

Louis takes the waiting time as an opportunity to look around the restaurant. It was a little hipster, granted, but it was just in that cool, modern, minimalistic way. Nothing too fancy, which Louis actually preferred. Abstract artworks on the walls, mismatching furniture. The place was pretty empty though, about half the restaurant full (not great for a Friday evening and for a new place) he couldn't help but wonder if they'd bought any advertising. There was so much competition in this area of London for dining spots, to stand out was a task in itself.  
He turned his gaze to the window into the kitchen, where he could just about see a glimpse of Harry at work. Those wide, doe eyes so focused and determined. He was biting down on his bottom lip in concentration. Louis then watched as Harry ran his hand through those dark brown curls of his, clearly very stressed.  
He was snapped back out of his daze by Liam clicking his fingers in Louis' face.  
"Unemployed," Liam says slowly, stretching out the word, a stern look on his face. Well, as stern as Liam's face could manage. 

***

"Right, be extra careful with these ones, they're for those guys in the suits," says Harry, applying the finishing touches to both of the meals with such precision.  
"Don't worry, it's cool. Also, stop stressing man, they're just a couple of guys," Niall says with a dismissive flick of his hand.  
"I dunno, I just get a vibe from them. Like there's an ulterior motive or something there."  
"I think you're reading into it too much, mate."  
"The Louis guy keeps staring at me," Harry says with a pensive expression, studying the pair of them through the window of the kitchen as they chatted at their dining table.  
"I think you're just paranoid and making up crazy scenarios in your head. Or maybe he's interested in you?" Niall teases. Harry's attention switches to Niall at this suggestion. Niall's hands are on his hips and he sways from side to side, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. Harry grabs a nearby tea towel and throws it at his face.  
"Now who's making up crazy scenarios."  
"It's not a completely ridiculous assumption!" Niall throws the tea towel back at Harry.  
"Whatever. You have a job to do," Harry indicates towards the plates of food with a smile and tosses the tea towel over his shoulder. Niall follows instructions and exits the kitchen.  
Harry can't help but observe the initial reactions of the businessmen upon receiving their meals. He folds his arms over his chest and peeks out through the window, watching the boys intently for their expressions. Niall doesn't mess up, which is a relief, and the boys seem fairly impressed by the looks of things. So far, it was all going smoothly. 

"The food does look incredible, to his credit," Louis says, eyes darting from Liam's meal to his own.  
"Paul said the food was good though, just everything else. Shame for a talent like that to go to waste," Liam replies as he begins to fork at his chicken.  
"Umm," Louis hums through a mouth full of pizza. It was, genuinely, one of the best pizzas Louis had ever tasted. Harry really was going to make their job as hard for them as possible. 

Niall was preparing a few diners' drinks at the bar when he hears an unusual sound coming from underneath the coffee machine. The noise is almost like a squeak, and Niall wonders if there is something wrong with the internal workings of the machine, like something stuck or one of the inner mechanisms being out of place. He approaches the machine and begins tinkering around, not really knowing exactly what he is trying to achieve, when he suddenly feels as though something is on his shoe. Looking down, to his absolute horror, is a rat, almost the scale of his size 11 foot.  
"Shit!" he mutters under his breath, frantically kicking his foot out so that the rat scurries off; although this is now a worse problem to have as the rat crawls at an impossible speed out from behind the bar and into the main restaurant area. 

"Oh my God!" screams a female customer in shock, throwing one hand over her mouth with the other pointing toward the rat as it moves rapidly, winding in and out of table and chair legs and causing an eruption of customers to flail their arms about wildly in disgust and shock. 

Harry hears the commotion from the kitchen and looks out the window. All he sees is nearly every customer leaping up onto the furniture, as though an impromptu game of The Floor is Lava has just commenced. Confused, he tries to follow the mortified looks of the customers, wondering what the hell is going on. It is then that his eyes catch sight of the filthy little brown offender scampering across the floor, and he gasps and throws his hands to his face reflexively. "Fuck!" he shouts. 

"Christ almighty there's a rat, Louis it's a rat!" Liam shouts, jumping up onto his chair and cradling his knees with his arms. Liam had a fear of rodents, pests and most insects too. He tries to make himself appear a little less terrified, but fails rather miserably, his face a picture of intense fear.  
"Well that's definitely the nail in the coffin for this place then," says Louis, almost with a hint of remorse in his voice. 

Niall eventually manages to corner the rat and shoo it out of the premises with a mop, but the damage has already been done. All of the customers refuse to pay for their meals, and all vow never to return to the place again. Niall and the other waiting staff apologise profusely to the diners as they angrily stomp out of the restaurant one by one, leaving just Louis and a semi-traumatized Liam.  
"I'm so sorry lads, honestly. That has never happened before. We've never seen any rats before in the restaurant or kitchen and-"  
"It's okay," Louis interrupts with a raised hand, "I mean, obviously it's not okay. This evening's been a bit of a mess, and we were actually sent here tonight by our boss to investigate whether or not this place is worth investing in or just cutting off entirely."  
"Oh God. So Harry was right," Niall says quietly and burrows his face in his hands, shaking his head, "I'll go get him." 

Niall walks into the kitchen to see Harry sat with his back against the wall, with no real expression on his face. He looks up at Niall and feels as though he knows exactly what's going on, dragging himself up from the floor to surely just get knocked right back down again. 

"Obviously we have to tell our boss this place needs to go," Liam states, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.  
"That's fair, I understand. It was just too much responsibility and hard work for me I guess," Harry sighs. Niall squeezes his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.  
"Yeah. He wants a full report by Monday. I guess it's just a case of... Can't stand the heat, get out the kitchen," says Louis. Harry meets his eyes one last time and tries to read his face. Nothing. Funny thing to talk about heat when somebody can be so cold. 

A week later...

Louis hasn't been able to stop thinking about the restaurant. It has been plaguing his mind ever since he saw a deeply disappointed Harry throw his hands up and confess that he had been beaten, and that he would lose everything he had obviously worked so hard for. He also couldn't stop thinking about Harry in general. 

The restaurant is en route to where Louis needs to be. Well, at least if he goes the long way round to the bank it is. Maybe a detour is a more appropriate word for this journey. He just needs to say sorry, needs to make his excuses, state that it's business, 'dog eat dog world' and all that...

"Hey there," Louis says cheerily as he parks his car outside of Harry's restaurant. Harry is outside, carrying some bags full of presumably leftover food.  
"Sup," Harry replies half-heartedly, a little perplexed too. He knew he had to be all out of the building in a months’ time, but surely the email reminders were enough. He didn't need Louis coming over here in person telling him all that too.  
"How are things? Ya know, aside-"  
"Losing my job and my dignity? Yeah, not bad actually. We've had nice weather, my mother got another pet cat. It's called Susie."  
Louis couldn't help but giggle at that. Even Harry let out a little smile at his surprising ability to still have a sense of humour about things.  
"You've got dimples?" Louis says, the words escaping from his mouth before he could even process what he thought he meant by them.  
"Umm, yeah, I guess I do. Hadn't you noticed before?" Harry wasn't sure where this conversation was going, if it even had a direction at all. Awkward small talk on a Thursday lunch time.  
"Don't think I saw you smile before."  
There was a brief moment of silence.  
" _So_ ," Louis begins, "I just wanted to apologise, again. It's shit. It really is shit. But your food was great. And that's what matters, right?"  
"I guess so," Harry sighs. "Um, if you wanna chat some more that's cool, but I was just going to the homeless shelter to give them some food."  
"Oh, really?" Louis is taken aback by this.  
"Well yeah, I mean it's a total waste of food otherwise. It's perfectly decent stuff, and I'd rather somebody get to eat it than throw it away, ya know?"  
"That's... That's really nice. Yeah, I'll walk with." 

They walk together in more silence. Louis is usually a great conversationalist, has such an ease with words, but even he is stumped. He catches sideways glances at Harry as they walk to the homeless shelter that's a few streets away. He really is very attractive. A sharp jawline, the faint outlines of his dimples still visible. 

After they reach the homeless shelter, Harry greeting one of the women as though they were good friends, Louis feels a pang of guilt. He was partly responsible for this guy losing his job and his business, and he really did seem like such a decent guy. And an attractive one at that. But that part isn't that important, as Louis keeps telling himself. 

Harry says goodbye to the woman after giving her the bags of food, turning back towards Louis.  
"You're pulling at my heart strings, honestly," Louis says with a laugh.  
"Didn't realise you had any," Harry replies, and Louis is stung, before he realises Harry is joking. The dimples make a return.  
"Har, har. So err, you really are a good cook, and it'd be such a shame to waste such culinary talent. I was thinking," Louis swallows, all of a sudden nervous. "Why don't we get together and discuss business? I've got a lot of contacts and, I could probably get you an interview or trial with some great restaurants-"  
"If by get together you mean we go to lunch or dinner at an expensive successful restaurant just so I can be reminded of how much of a failure I am then I'm afraid I'm gonna have to pass."  
The dimples are gone.  
" _Alternatively_ , I could come over to yours and you can cook your delicious food for me and we can discuss plans that way? I would offer but I cannot cook for shit," says Louis, his humorous - and honest - admission an attempt to lighten the mood. There is a prolonged pause before Harry's response.  
"Fine. Give me one of those business cards that I know you have on you right now and I'll text you my address. Tomorrow evening, 8?"  
"Sounds good to me," Louis laughs, digging into his suit jacket pocket and pulling out a small business card accordingly. "Cheers, see you at 8!"  
"See you then."


End file.
